


Luncheons

by Hancockles



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Belly Kink, Food, Food Kink, Gen, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hancockles/pseuds/Hancockles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred and The Hunter stop for a quick lunch. It's alright to indulge sometimes, isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luncheons

The Good Hunter enjoys their little luncheons.

Alfred never asked where it all comes from; far be it from a man with an insatiable sweet tooth to ask questions. He licks his fingers clean – at first it was a subtle motion from a man who had the good sense to hide his bad table manners. Now he does it in full view, unashamed. Alfred hadn’t ever been the smallest man, but there used to be some definition to him. He was heavy with muscle instead of fat. Of course, there’s still muscle if you’re close enough to squeeze a bicep. If you’re only looking, though…

Alfred had shed the heavy outer layers of his clothing and was left with the basics: a pair of pants with an obvious opening done up with a string (like a present! thought the Hunter) and a shirt of soft, thick material that clung to his body and showed off the divot of his belly button. He’d been eating since the two began their meeting, and showed little intention of stopping. Such was the way of things: the Hunter brought food, Alfred ate it.  
Alfred leans back and stretches languidly. His shirt rides up, exposing a soft, cream-colored stretch of lower belly. The Hunter eyes it until Alfred notices and, blushing, tugs his shirt down.

“Your gut looks bigger every time I see you,” the Hunter remarks.

Alfred stutters a reply. His cheeks burn deeper when he feels the hunter’s cool hand under his shirt, against his belly.

“I quite like it,” the Hunter says, softly.

“Do you, now?” Alfred says, and he tries to say it evenly.

The Hunter gives his stomach a soft squeeze, pulls his chair closer to Alfred’s. The man’s stuffed stomach rises and falls gently with each breath, drawing attention to just how big it’s grown. The Hunter wants nothing more than to slap it, to see how it jiggles – but he controls himself. A hand reaches to the plate, grabs a sweet, offers it to Alfred. The man shakes his head and puts his own hand on his rounded middle.

“No, no,” he says. “I think I’m quite finished for today.”

The Hunter’s hand on Alfred’s stomach rubs in a slow circle, applies gentle pressure. Alfred groans, bites his lip without thinking.

“Eat up, sweet thing,” says the Hunter. “You want to please me, don’t you?”

Alfred nods, overtaken by some new sort of hunger.

“Good. Now wouldn’t it be such a shame if all this food went to waste?”

The Hunter presses something sweet against Alfred’s lips. He opens his mouth, chews, swallows, presses a kiss to the hunter’s fingers and brings them into his mouth, sucking them clean. Watching the movement of Alfred’s throat, the Hunter feels a gnawing hunger of their own. And such a filthy hunger it is. The Hunter grabs another sweet, something that looks delicate, and brings their finger to Alfred’s mouth, hooking it in and parting his lips. The pastry goes in neatly. The Hunter and Alfred are both surprised at how well the executioner is behaving.

The Hunter presses another sweet something against Alfred’s lips, and the man opens his mouth. Then the Hunter finds themselves with a mean idea. They stuff Alfred’s mouth with the first pastry and then grab another, barely waiting for him to swallow before coaxing the second one in. Alfred groans, raises up a hand in protest, but the Hunter places a hand on his broad shoulder and pushes him back into the chair. Like a good boy, Alfred swallows, and means to ask what in the world the Hunter thinks they’re doing when another confection enters his mouth.

For such small things they’re surprisingly heavy, and it doesn’t take long for Alfred to feel their weight in his stomach. His skin feels stretched and taut, gut pushing out farther and farther. He feels so, so full, almost painfully so; the thought of eating another bite makes him groan.

“Weren’t you supposed to be disciplined?” The Hunter asks. They grab the flesh right below Alfred’s bellybutton and pinch, hard. “And now look at you.”

Alfred groans again and turns his head, pretending he’s not listening, but the blush on his cheeks gives him away. Aware of himself and his weight, he compulsively pulls his shirt down again. But, no luck: his swollen belly pushes the fabric out and it won’t cover the entirety of him. He knew this was where he’d end up, sooner or later. Up until this point he had been eating freely, after all. Every gift of food the hunter gave him went right into his mouth, and on certain occasions he moaned his gratitude, ate too much, acted like a pig, shamed himself. In the moment he felt no shame, of course, but now, with the Hunter appraising his body with those cool eyes, he felt a shiver along his spine.

Alfred runs his own hands along the curve of his belly and notes how tight his pants are. It’s not just the waistband, though – there’s an unmistakable heat building between his legs. He squeezes his stomach, and is nearly surprised to find a whole handful of soft, creamy flesh. The Hunter groans, low and deep within their throat, watching this display.

“You like me fat,” Alfred says, a small note of wonder in his voice.

Once again, the Hunter grabs the plumpest part of Alfred’s belly and pinches, then flattens their hand out to rub the dome of soft skin. They run their finger along the edge of his shirt.

“You’ve outgrown this so quickly,” they say.

“And whose fault would that be?”

“Yours, fat boy,” the Hunter says. Their finger reaches Alfred’s crotch, and a finger gives way to a whole hand, the touch turning to stroking above the fabric. Alfred throws his head back, thinks he should not be enjoying this – should he? The Hunter loosens the strings on Alfred’s pants and lets his stomach do the rest. Almost immediately it pushes forward, pushes the fabric apart, swelling into the new available space. His cock is hard now, though Alfred could not say why – this method of seduction seemed highly unusual.

The Hunter kneels in front of Alfred, putting their hands on his swollen belly and massaging in tight circle, applying even pressure. And while they do this they lean their head down and take his cock into their mouth, coaxing it to hardness. And when it is fully hard, they look up and pull Alfred’s shirt up, to the top of his belly. The Hunter says, “Keep eating,” and returns to work, moving deft lips and tongue over the head of Alfred’s member.

Alfred knows an order when he hears one, and grabs the first thing he can. He stuffs the sweet into his mouth, moaning, fullness of his stomach combining with the fullness of his crotch in the best sort of way. The Hunter continues massaging his belly, swears they can feel it getting larger, just as they feel the twitch of his dick in their mouth. Together they work in almost perfect rhythm, Alfred eating more, and more; the Hunter bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

Alfred’s messy, gets crumbs all over himself and frosting on his face, but his drive to keep eating makes him uncaring. And his arousal – god, he was going to burst in more way than one. And when the heat builds up inside him and he can stand it no longer, he does burst, in long spurts into the Hunter’s mouth. Alfred’s own mouth is filled with something sweet, so deliciously full.

Alfred leans his head back again and releases a deep sigh he hadn’t known he’d been holding. And the Hunter, wiping their mouth on the back of their hand, pats his belly and smiles.

“Such a good pig,” they say. “We’ll meet again soon, won’t we?”

The Hunter stands up and leans over Alfred, who is too tired and heavy and stuffed to even consider standing, and kisses him. They lick the frosting and crumbs clean from his lips, give his belly another pinch.

“I do hope so,” Alfred whispers into their mouth. And the Hunter smiles.


End file.
